


The Trouble With Zevran

by Moontyger



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-19
Updated: 2011-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-17 02:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moontyger/pseuds/Moontyger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran might be the one who instigated these games, but if Alistair didn't enjoy them, all he had to do was walk away.  But that was the one thing he didn't want to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trouble With Zevran

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Traxits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traxits/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Disciplinary Action](https://archiveofourown.org/works/80226) by [Traxits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traxits/pseuds/Traxits). 



The trouble with Zevran was – Alistair caught the thought right there and, irritated as he was, had to stifle a laugh at his own thought processes. The trouble with Zevran could fill at least one book and more likely several. Maker's breath, but the elf was annoying! He never knew when to stop, always pushing and prodding, pointing out things that Alistair would really rather went unmentioned. Perhaps Zevran had no shame – in fact, Alistair was quite sure he did not – but that did not mean he had to embarrass others.

And then there was his endless fondness for these ridiculous games. _Why_ had he led this pointless chase? And why the struggle at the end, forcing Alistair to carry him across the courtyard of the keep, blushing all the way at the feel of curious eyes upon them?

But for all his blushing, all his genuine annoyance and embarrassment at the situation, he was still almost smiling when he finally reached his room and dropped the recalcitrant elf. Merely an expression of satisfaction at his triumph, he told himself, but he wasn't surprised that Zevran didn't let that stand.

Without the slightest trace of shame or apology, Zevran stretched, draping himself comfortably over Alistair's bed. His expression was one of smug satisfaction and a challenging light remained in his eyes as he looked up, clearly undisturbed to have someone looming over him. “Ah, exercise is so invigorating. And I can see you find it so as well.”

Alistair's blush only deepened. “That was _not_ invigorating!” he protested. “It was humiliating. Whatever happened to keeping it quiet?”

Zevran merely shrugged, never losing his smirk. “You cannot deny that you enjoyed it. After all, I did not force you to chase me.”

He opened his mouth to reply, then realized there was nothing he could say. It was true. Zevran might be the one who instigated these games, but if Alistair didn't enjoy them, all he had to do was walk away. But that was the one thing he didn't want to do.

Since he wasn't retreating, he went forward. Typical of someone with his training, he supposed, but what else was he to do? “Turn over.” The words were more of a growl, but Zevran was leisurely in his obedience. Why shouldn't he be? Despite Alistair's greater size and weight, they both knew he'd only been able to carry the elf because he'd been allowed to.

“It is my pleasure to obey.” He turned and bent over the bed, even wriggled enticingly, glancing back over his shoulder with a smile that would have been better suited on a whore. Or so he imagined; it was not as though Alistair had much experience with them. The assassin's next words only furthered the impression. "I am not certain what you're planning on doing to me right now, but... I am still clothed.” A lie, of course – Zevran knew perfectly well what their plans were. But he shifted his hips again, drawing attention to both his still-present pants and the way they fit him, and it didn't seem worth pursuing. A subject for another time, perhaps.

He hesitated, just for a second, then reached out, grabbing long platinum blond hair in one fist and using it to pull Zevran's head back. “Take them off,” he ordered, but he knew it didn't come out quite right. Alistair could feel the blush burning on his cheeks again – Maker, he was so bad at this! It wasn't as though he didn't enjoy the outcome of these games and Zevran's reaction made it clear that he _loved_ it, but he couldn't help feeling silly. He could play the part, but it just wasn't him.

Zevran, however, didn't seem to care. Alistair expected him to lower his pants slowly, tantalizingly, as he did so many other things, but he seemed too eager for that, jerking them open and shoving them down roughly. He wasn't quite sure if he were disappointed or relieved.

Licking his lips with something that was only partially nervousness, he paused there, looking down at Zevran splayed over the bed. “Don't move,” he instructed, then pulled his hand back for the first blow. They both felt the impact of his hand on bare flesh and they both reacted; Alistair bit his lip and Zevran moaned, tensing in anticipation of the next smack.

He still felt a little weird about this. It wasn't that he was worried about hurting Zevran; while Alistair had the muscles of a man who spent most of his time in heavy armor, swinging around a sword and shield, he was certain his partner could handle it. He'd seen him take worse pain than this with a grin.

Even if he hadn't, the way Zevran shivered and moaned with each blow made it obvious that pain wasn't what he was feeling, and that reaction was why Alistair was willing to do it, no matter how strange it seemed to him. It wasn't the sort of thing he'd imagined people did in bed, but he couldn't deny the effectiveness. If Zevran enjoyed it, why shouldn't go along with it? And, well, while he had never imagined finding spanking someone arousing, his breath was shorter than the mere exertion could explain and his pants were feeling much too tight. There was just something about the way Zevran reacted, the shameless way he moaned and arched his back, that went straight to his cock.

He paused for a moment, watching, and his next touch was gentle, caressing the heated skin. Alistair might have stopped there, just left it at that, but Zevran, true to his nature, couldn't let it be. “You're not done already, are you? I had thought you had more stamina than that. Perhaps if you -”

Another blow, this one harder, cut off his words. It was silly to let himself be taunted, but it worked every time. Alistair both knew it and couldn't quite find it in himself to ignore the goading. At times, it was enough to make him wonder why he'd taken up with this exasperating elf, the one he'd been certain he could never trust, in the first place. But the doubts never lasted long.

This time, when he stopped, Zevran didn't protest. He allowed him time enough to find the oil he'd left in easy reach and time to use it on himself. “Hold still. I'm not done with you yet,” he instructed, though he couldn't quite keep from laughing at the end, which sort of ruined it. But he followed the words quickly with action, holding Zevran down with one hand while he carefully pushed inside him.

Alistair had been reluctant about this part when Zevran had first proposed it. Spanking him was one thing; screwing him roughly against the bed with no real preparation was quite another, at least if you asked him. But Zevran was both persistent and persuasive and, without quite knowing how, he'd found he'd agreed to try it. There must be something to it at that, for even if it hurt (and it must hurt, at least a little, mustn't it?), Zevran was panting, spreading his legs a little wider and squirming under him in unfeigned eagerness.

He didn't touch him, not more than he already was, his weight on the hand holding him down and the thrusting of his hips. It didn't seem to matter, not for either of them. The playacting might be silly and the script not entirely one he would have chosen, but this was different. Zevran's eagerness: the heat of his body, the sound of his voice moaning loud enough that anyone in the hall was certain to overhear – they were all enough to overwhelm him. More than enough, really, to make him shudder in orgasm sooner than he'd like, a groan that was not quite Zevran's name on his lips, but also quite sufficient to make Alistair eager to play Zevran's games as many times as he liked.

After, he was gentle, and this, Zevran allowed, though he laughed when Alistair asked if it had been all right. Maybe it was a little funny, but he couldn't help asking. What if it hadn't been? He knew he'd made a bit of a mess of it.

He didn't mind the laughter, not really. It was not truly mocking, or at least not meant harshly. Alistair grinned back. “Next time, I'll gag you if you don't shut up.”

As he'd known he would, Zevran merely looked interested. “Then I shall ensure I never do.”

“I thought you'd say that.”

They kissed and Alistair thought they'd leave it there, but of course, Zevran had to up the stakes. “Next time, it will not be so easy to catch me. And perhaps I will wear a few less clothes.”

He groaned at that, already imagining a naked elf running across the courtyard, for all to see. Maker, he'd never live that one down. But as he kissed him again, Alistair found he was already looking forward to it.


End file.
